


and if you court this disaster

by light_rises



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Frisk, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Past Character Death, Post-Pacifist Route, Selectively Mute Frisk, pale relationships, plus the recklessness it can incur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:18:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/light_rises/pseuds/light_rises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flowey, Frisk, a mountain, and the dubious promise of miracles.</p><p>Or: Flowey is tasked with acting like a good friend. Two years of practice hasn't made this much easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and if you court this disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an ask meme, for tumblr user [squidyjen](http://squidyjen.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The prompt: _"If you die, I'm gonna kill you."_
> 
> (Shoutout to both [telluricThanatologist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/telluricThanatologist) and [feralphoenix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix) for looking this over before posting - thank you again for the feedback!!)

Everything about this is so _stupid_.

Frisk almost got up too early for you to catch them—you've never been a morning person, not in any timeline or iteration—and it was a goddamn chore to wheedle them into not leaving you behind for... wherever. Destination is something you couldn't care less about, though Frisk did. Enough that once they admitted defeat to your wiles ("I'll vore your stubborn butt and drag you back through that window, you know" _'Do you even know what 'V-O-R-E' means'_ "GOD who cares!!!!"), their tack retreated into something... familiar.

They didn't fuss or offer some placid mote of back-sass when you insisted on _your favorite flower pot_ for this trip into Hell Possibly, no ifs, ands or buts about it. They strapped on your preferred pack, the front-carrying one that makes it easier for you to see them talk, even though Frisk isn't fond of it from a sensory standpoint and you both know it. You decided to call these accommodations "red flags one and two."

The way you felt Frisk's pulse pick up, more than was strictly necessary for climbing this mountain, just tweaked your hackles more. It's not any better now that they've reached the summit.

They come to a stop at an old rope bridge, and without a word they unstrap your pot and ladle you out with careful hands, onto the only patch of dirt amidst rock and scraggly mountain grass. You poke a couple roots past the pot soil, testing. It's not much, but enough for the rest of you to get some purchase, if you wanted.

It's—technically _that_ part's normal. Frisk has it in their head that you should be able to stretch out your roots if you're going outdoors, because despite all the times they indulge your snark they're still a soft pitybaby who believes you deserve that option. But that's whatever. What's bugging you here, right _now_ is that they've always given you the choice to sit tight in your pot instead and... didn't.  As if—

They're surveying the bridge, the length it spans and the sharp drop it threatens, weight shifting between their little stump legs in a nervous bounce. Hmm.

You're sure anyone else in your position would be feeling alarmed by now. You—you're not that. Not in the way a normal (real) person would be. That's beyond you.

"Do you even have a clue how stable that thing is?" You've got annoyance in spades, at least. It'll have to do.

Frisk gives the bridge an extra squint before signing, _'Not at all.'_

"Liar! At least half of those planks are rotted through, I KNOW you can see that."

 _'It's closer to one-third.'_ You snarl, and they pivot a little more towards you. _'I don't think I'm wrong?'_

"Hey, did you know: your optimism is serving a really dumb purpose right now."

_'Flowey. You always say it's dumb.'_

"Well it's extra dumb! Today, specifically, at this moment!! Enough that it needs to be singled out."

They stick out their tongue at you. _'At least I wasn't lying this time.'_

"God, who cares." You certainly don't.

Frisk just huffs a sigh through their nose before turning away. It's not enough that you can't make it out when they say, _'I wonder if it would be better if I just... ran all the way across? Really really fast?'_

"You know what would be the _best_ idea?" You give them a nice, withering smile as they turn towards you again. "Not setting foot on it at all! WooOOowie, ain't that a concept??"

 _'That's probably how I'll feel after crossing it.'_ They lift their arms in a shrug before finishing with, _'Them's the breaks.'_

You start to say something, then give yourself a beat to process what you just saw.

"... That was a pun. That was a _pun_ , Frisk you morbid little _shit—_ "

They just lift their brows and resume the shrug. Then kick out a leg for emphasis.

You're so pissed you almost forget to infuse the pellet you hurl at them with green magic. "You cross that thing and I'll tell Toriel you made me cuss!!!" you command, _definitely_ command, not shriek.

Frisk just sidesteps your bullet because _of course_ , with an awkward twirl that does the job anyway. They stifle reedy little laughs as they swing their hands into a clasp at their back and—yeah, conversation over, basically.

Great. Being a pain in the ass isn't getting you anywhere. Why are you bothering again? Frisk's like, twelve now, right? That's old enough to make awful big kid decisions without your help, and if that means they'll plunge to their death and set everyone back two years because they haven't been able to save since leaving the underground, then by golly, what business is that of yours?

... Except that's a bit wrong; you'd be swept backwards too. God. You're tired just thinking about it. Though come to think of it, Frisk would be loath to reload from that far back, and that would—that,

Ugh. _Fine_.

They've tread a little closer to the bridge, so you burrow to them. Six feet of stone isn't the worst you've troweled, though still kind of a pain without the networks you're used to exploiting, and Frisk doesn't even bother to flinch when you pop up at their heels. Freaking rude.

"Hey," you say. "Buddy. Frisko."

They arch a brow at you. _'What happened to F-R-I-S-K-E-T?'_

"It met an untimely demise, on account of me getting bored."

_'Heh. Tale as old as time.'_

"Oh shut up." Primly, you draw up to your full height (fourteen-something inches without SOUL magic to bolster you, yeesh).  "Anyway, 'Frisko' might be waning," you say. "Certain parties are making this kiiinda hard to tell right now, though."

Frisk rolls their eyes, but for a moment that's where they leave it at. It feels like a stutter, in rhythm or something else entirely, and maybe that's why their face gives way to something you could finally call serious. They sigh as they tell you, signs careful, _'I didn't come here to die, Flowey.'_

You sigh too. That place where a normal person would feel relief prickles, a bit, maybe. "Yeah, yeah, this isn't Ebott and you're a flighty imbecile, but"—might as well cut to the chase—"Frisk, c'mon, it's obvious your heart's not into this dumb stunt."

It's subtle, but you see their fingers abort a curl against their palms. _'Maybe, but it doesn't matter.'_

"'Doesn't mat'—oh my god, what does that even _mean_."

_'That it's something I have to try.'_

"Who says??" Now you're annoyed _and_ at the cusp of revelation, so you keep pressing. "Look, you've been perfectly careful for two years, and THIS is how you decide to risk every last scrap of progress you've eked out? I don't think so."

Their mouth presses flat, breath hitching with the promise of something you don't care about. _'Flowey—'_

"Because wow, look at you, still getting played like a fiddle if someone prods you enough and—and I'm DONE Frisk, so why don't you do me a solid _for once_ , stop the long-suffering shtick and tell me who put you up to this—"

" ** _No one's making me do this!_ ** "

The words tear out of them so brusquely you just. Stop. Their panting fills the space between you.

Frisk isn't looking at you when their eyes squeeze shut, feet shuffling back a step. They press tight fists against their temples, ease themself into long, shuddery breaths. Eventually their left fist comes down, touching the space above their heart before moving it in a circle twice, then three times.

You make a noise between a sigh and a _tch_. "Yelling at me loud enough won't kill me, dumbass," you mutter.

"Really wanted to hit you." It's spoken aloud, you think because Frisk isn't ready to move their fists from their respective spots yet. "Or step on you. Something." They sign again, maybe for good measure: _'Sorry.'_

You bite back a laugh. It's so funny. Once upon a time you kept tearing Frisk into literal pieces, for a lark, for _fun_ , after a long procession of putting everyone else through their paces. Frisk gave in to heady frustration _once_ (last timeline, before the only reset fate or whatever has been lax enough to grant them) and now it's as if you have a right to accept their apologies for... what, thinking a bad thought? Raising their voice??

It's so funny, and it strikes you that this might be missing the point since, uh, Frisk is on the verge of a meltdown, maybe. Which is kind of your fault. Oops?

You're so bad at this. And frustrated you don't care more, not really. What on earth made you think coming along would help?

You wait anyway, for Frisk to calm down, for you to try again (you're not equipped for this, you're _not_ , but no one else is here and you can't stand letting this stupidity go unchecked). When their fists drift downward, you latch onto a rolled-up cuff of their jeans, give a couple tugs with your teeth, then pull back. "Hey. If we're gonna keep talking, you might as well get your butt down here." A pause, then, "You know. If you want."

They nod at length, and their butt obliges with a muffled thunk. Now that they're closer to eye level, it becomes obvious that they've been not-quite-crying and are still fighting it. Oh boy.

You give your petals a stern ruffle. "Okay," you start. "Either we go over why you ~need~ to cross Hellmurder Bridge, or you're going to fess up so I can eat whoever's responsible for this."

Frisk snorts, scrubbing the back of one hand across their nose. Gross, but it doesn't look like they'll cry anymore, so that's progress you guess. _'I promise this is just me, Flowey,'_ they say.

"Is it really?"

Their eyes go half-mast. _'Do you want me to rub the back of this on your face.'_

The snotty half of Frisk's hand looms close and you recoil, hissing. "ACK!!! That touches me and I swear I'll bite you!!"

They seem to—flinch? Whatever it is, the deadpan crumbles from their face. Something that might be guilt crimps their mouth when they ask, _'Are you sure you want to know?'_

Unease flares in you, or at least an approximation. There's no way you're going to miss a beat here, though. "What do you think," you tell them.

Frisk makes an indistinct noise, fingers curling into each other. They give Hellmurder Bridge another look, a long one that makes you wonder if they're going to say anything at all when they suck in a breath and lift their hands.

 _'I've been here one other time.'_ Their signing is slow, so it's easy to catch the slight tremor in their fingers before they continue. _'With Chara.'_

The moment goes still, and the hollow in you seizes up, like muscle memory.

When it passes, you notice that Frisk's face has slipped into a familiar solemnity. It's nostalgic, you think. A part of you still hates that look so much.

 _'They told me a story about the bridge. Ah. Sort of.'_ They make direct eye contact, which they hardly do and never like it, so you know it's important. _'I'm... pretty sure you know it, too.'_

You scowl, because you have to think about it a few seconds. Then,

\---

A memory. (Yours, and not.)

You were both in your bedroom, during that cozy space between dinner and lights out. This night happened closer to Chara's fall than not—far enough out that your family had moved to New Home, but early enough in that Chara's good days stood out, like smooth stones peeking through silt.

This time, their good day had led to two things: they wanted to hang out on your side of the room, and they felt up to regaling you with Facts About The Surface(TM).

"Okay, so, there's Ebott of course, and then the quieter rigors of Mount Hyacinth, which—" They stopped, eyes narrowing at you from their spot on the floor. "Ugh, Ree, why don't you come down and join me in The Pit already? I can't see you."

"Because I like being comfy!" You gave your mattress a pat, though more for the principle of it. Chara didn't like sitting on your bed, which... you'd tried not to be offended, especially since they were fine with you crashing on _their_ bed. You would just have to deal with their feet stuck up in the air next to you, threatening to knock your snout clean off as they idly kicked. "And... okay, there's nothing pit-like about the floor, what do you even mean by that?" you asked.

"I like to give my natural habitat the label appropriate to it." Chara smiled, in that particular way that asked whoever was listening to "get" the joke. You just frowned, so they waved it off. "Anyway. Mount Hyacinth. It's like beginner's mode Ebott. Lighter on the ominous legends, a lot better tailored to human recreation. Famous for: over forty species of wildflowers, none of which are actually hyacinths; a family of black bears; that one hiker who had to chew his arm off to escape a crevice he stupidly fell into; a rope brigmFF ASFRIEM WHAF THE SHIFF."

You giggled, foot planted on Chara's face. "You were being gross!" you said, though to be honest you didn't actually care. You just liked the excuse to catch Chara off-guard.

With some effort, they managed to bat your foot away. "Asriel _oh my god_ your feet fucking _stink,_ " they groused, and you kind of wanted to laugh again. "I swear I'll bite you if you stick that thing up my nose again."

You gave them a tiny frown. "You didn't seem to think my feet were so bad last week."

"I—toe beans are one thing, they weren't anywhere _near my face_ , and they hadn't just spent a day trouncing through the garbage dump." Chara's scowl was in full force, though you noted (with more than a little satisfaction) that their cheeks had gone pinker than usual.

"Yeah, but we just took a bath!" you pointed out.

"And they STILL stink."

You tossed a pillow at their face, since _clearly_ a foot wouldn't do now. Their loss. They let the pillow rest where it landed, just for a moment, before pulling it down to hug it to their chest.

"We're getting sidetracked," they declared. "What were we talking about again."

"Ummm... Mount Hyacinth, I think you called it?"

"Oh yeah." Chara looked to the ceiling, brows knit as their fingers picked at the stitching on the pillow. "There's this rope bridge too. Pretty old, practically falling to pieces. It connects to this jut of rock at the summit and... no one can figure out why? I mean. I've looked across it on a clear day and nothing's _there_ , it's. A tree and some brush. That's it."

You hummed in thought. "Maybe it used to be a secret campout?"

"As good a theory as any, I suppose." They paused, darting out a hand. They'd gotten bored of the pillow, probably, though not enough to relinquish it as they snagged one of the Hot Wheels scattered across the rug. "I'm not sure it matters," they went on, thumbing one of the tires, "or that anyone really cares. The flavor is all in the legend attached to it."

"What is it?" You scooted forward, making sure they could see your brows raised and mouth upturned in encouragement.

"Mm. Humans say the bridge is a test, or a gamble. Perspective, you know? If you can make it across, you're allowed to bring back any one thing that you've lost. People included." They lowered the toy, fixing you with a thin smile as they added, "The second catch is that you have to survive the return trip, too."

You leaned back, stewing in this for a moment. Then: "... That magic doesn't sound remotely possible."

" _Right??_ " Their arms swept out, emphatic, and you wanted to preen the tiniest bit. "I mean—I'm no expert, for fairly obvious reasons, but there you go, you've just cinched it."

"Ha ha oookay, wait," you laughed, and _boy_ did you hate bursting this bubble, but—"that's nice of you to think, but I'm... nnnot. That good, yet? With magic. I'm hardly any more of an expert than you."

"Fair enough," they said, hands pressed together, "and I offer a counterpoint: You. Are literally. Magic."

You threw another pillow at them. "That's not how it works and you know it!! Jeez... "

They shot back with something like "Dunno, sounded pretty authoritative to me" through the muffles, but you didn't care because they were just nettling you now and _honestly Chara_ monsters don't just KNOW these things by dint of being magical, holy moly.

... Still. It was giving you a thought. And maybe—if this legend meant enough to Chara for them to bring it up, however dismissive they were acting, you figured it was worth the pursuit before it got away from both of you.

You tilted your head back and swung your legs, trying to think of a good opener. "Even if it's silly," you started, slowly, "it seems like a nice thought, right? That there's a way to bring back something you were sure you'd lost forever."

Chara barked a noise that sounded less a laugh than a cough. "Right. You would think that," they said, tone casual, all charred at the edges. "Hold fast to the silver lining, ignore the ridiculous long con holding that particular arrangement together."

"I mean— _yeah_ it's pretty bad and unfair I guess, but—" You stopped, legs going still too. "Um. Okay, hold on..."

You clambered from your bed, settling on your back next to Chara. You're a flipped version of their pose, legs splayed towards the rest of the room instead of propped against the mattress, but you made sure your eyes came level to theirs when you laid down.

Slowly, they inclined an upside-down face towards you. "At last," they intoned. "You join me."

"Yes," you said.

They held up a hand, tamping down on the tiniest of smiles. You couldn't very well leave them hanging.

"... I guess what I'm driving at," you ventured, after a moment, "is that maybe the bridge's magic isn't fair, but that doesn't mean we can't learn anything from it."

Chara laughed again, with a good deal less rancor. "You're sure putting a lot of thought into a legend we both agreed was impossible," they said, sounding almost languid.

"But that's the thing! Now I'm saying it's... maybe, not so impossible?"

They stiffened, eyes snapping to yours as they raised a brow.

"Don't get me wrong," you added quickly, "this isn't a guarantee or anything, and it has nothing to do with our kind of magic, but that's—"

"—the whole point," Chara finished. Both of their brows were up now. "Isn't it?"

"Right!!" you said, brightening. This was something you really liked about Chara, how sharp they were. "It's easy to forget because you, uh, generally don't have a lot, but humans are kind of magic too."

"... Ah. Yes." They frowned, pounding a fist to their chest. "Locked away in a sturdy package where virtually none of us can touch it, with all of our known practitioners either missing or long dead. Ree. Give me a break."

You gave their nose a hard tweak. "You'll get one if you let me explain first! Sheesh."

They grunted and made a show of rubbing their face, but there was no fond ear tug or a poke to the ribs in retaliation. You... weren't sure how to feel about that, until they whooshed out a sigh and looked at you again.

"Okay." Chara's face was— "Alright, sorry. Let's hear it."

—it was both softer and more focused than you were used to. It was encouragement, and it warmed you to your toes.

There was no way you could let them down.

"Well—

\---

 _—t_ _here's a lot both of us don't know about human magic,'_ Frisk is saying. _'But historically there's'_ —their hands stutter here— _'it can be. It's pretty powerful, under the right conditions.'_

Your mind goes to straight the Barrier, but you don't mention it; it's not necessary. Instead you shut your eyes and rub a leaf between them, since you don't have a nose whose bridge you could pinch. "This is pointless," you say.

_'What is?'_

"Telling me this! 'Gee whiz, maybe the old bridge is a manifestation of human magic~!' _Yes, I know!!!_ It's obvious Chara gave you that memory wholesale, why bother with the retread?"

You expect a prim retort, insistence that you shut up and let them finish, but Frisk just grimaces. That something you're now _very_ sure was guilt sweeps onto their face again. _'You're right, but... '_ they start, letting the pause hang for a few seconds before dropping it, _'they didn't actually mean to give it to me.'_

Your eyes go wide.

 _'It was really early on, Chara wound up saddled with some of my memories too and it was never—that time wasn't on purpose, but. It's not a nice thing to hear either way, is it?'_ They avert their gaze, mouth slanting apologetically. _'I know I've been saying 'sorry' a lot, but—'_

"It's whatever." As curt as it sounds, you mean it. You don't feel a thing, somehow. Not anger, or anything like that hot roiling splinter you nursed back when you found out Chara had been in Frisk's head the entire time, throughout the underground and beyond it. It's curious. You don't want to examine it too closely.

Frisk nods, and for a while it's quiet. They end up rocking back and forth, faintly, legs tucked to their chest and arms wrapped about their knees. Their mouth opens a few times before they seem to change their mind and reposition themself to free up their hands.

 _'That last time we were here,'_ Frisk says, _'we didn't expect to find the bridge still up. Like, at all. Chara swore it looked just as decrepit as it had back when they were alive.'_ Their fingers twitch, silence punctuated by a breath rushing past their lips. _'You really might have been onto something, back then.'_

Your teeth set themselves on-edge, unbidden.

"Asriel was an idiot," you say slowly, tightly, "who styled himself a better and smarter person than he actually was, then died trying to remedy that. Twice."

Their shoulders go hunched. _'Flowey... '_

"GOLLY THOUGH that's a depressing turn!!! Let's change the subject: Your plan sucks, I'm bored, Toriel's gonna start fretting over where you ran off to any minute now. So! How's about we head back and forget this happened before she gets it in her head to call reinforcements."

Frisk still looks upset, but they tuck enough of it away to shoot you a, _'That would be unfortunate.'_

"Oh man. _Buddy_ ," you say, "you don't know the half of it."

_'Hmmmmm. It'd be practical to fill me in, then.'_

"Absolutely NOT," you spit. "You. Nosey _butt_."

They shake with stifled giggles. Between that and the quiet they lapse into, soft eyes flitting between you and a spot on the ground, you dare to hope they're actually going to listen to reason and drop this bridge-crossing nonsense.

Frisk rolls onto their feet. _'I should be back in a few,'_ they say, pausing to dust off their knees. _'I'm going to try it the fast way.'_

Wow.

"Wh— _are you kidding me_."

_'The quicker I make it, the less Toriel will worry.'_

"That's not what I"—you hold back from screaming, from lashing your roots against the stone and honestly it's a miracle—"Frisk, are you _listening_ to the dreck you're spouting? Even slightly??"

They're eyeing the bridge again, weight rocking between their heels and the balls of their feet in a rapid fire, as if they're about to bolt. They stall the nervous energy to turn your way.

Those soft eyes fall on you. Directly. _'You understand why I want to try this now, right?'_

You don't spare the bridge a glance, but the silence speaks for itself.

 _'There's a chance it'll work,'_ Frisk signs, with a calm you don't buy; you've seen it enough times to know the fakeness of it is beating away frantically beneath their ribs. _'And I'm here. What else is there to it?'_

That's a hell of a question. But what is it, if not the logical end—to the Frisk you've seen cultivated, act by act, every tenderness by stupid self-flagellation?

You think about how much you hate this as you coil in on yourself, mouth drawn open, fixed into a grin just this side of grotesque. "Do you want an answer to that?" you ask.

_'Sure.'_

"Fine." And because you don't feel like playing at fairness anymore: "Did it ever occur to you that Chara would be the first in line to flay you alive for trying this?"

You're not sure what to expect. It's definitely not a rueful smile alighting their face.

"Oh," Frisk says, aloud, not at all with the lilt of epiphany, _'I always figured they might hate me if this worked.'_ They huff a mirthless laugh before adding, _'But I could live with that, I think. You'd have each other. That's the important thing.'_

Your grin snaps flat. "'I could live with that,'" you parrot back. "God. You moron. Don't act like they weren't your friend, too."

Their shoulders jerk, just the slightest. You find that more satisfying than you should, probably. _'It's worth it if it saves them,'_ they shoot back, after a stiff inhale. _'And... we'd have our whole lives ahead of us then, maybe we could work things out—'_

"That's a wonderful idea!" you cut in. "Provided that before we get any of this off the ground you don't, well." You flash a winning smile. "Succumb to the alternative."

Frisk breathes in, then out, very very carefully.

 _'I know what I'm doing.'_ Their signing—the flow feels mechanical, almost, despite the furrowed set to their brow. _'And I told you: I didn't come here to die. It'd defeat the purpose.'_

"But you're willing to risk it."

They have nothing to say for a while.

A breeze kicks up during the gap. It sends shivers and creaks through the old bridge, nips the edges of your petals. It's probably biting into Frisk's palms. Right about now you think Toriel would be putting the coffee on; if Frisk hadn't left this morning, she'd have a mug of hot cider ready for their fingers to wrap around. It's still April, after all.

 _'Sorry,'_ they finally say, _'nothing I can do about that.'_ The signs are curt, flashes of sharp and irritated. It must not be entirely intentional, because Frisk winces then goes on, more gently, _'Please. Things haven't been fair and... I'm tired. I'm tired of it. Let this go.'_

 _Let me_ _go_ , is what you hear.

Your smile stretches and stretches. "Frisk," you say, "you're hilarious, telling me to do that."

Their shrug is a soft one. _'It was worth a shot.'_

"But why stop there!" Why indeed? You lean forward, thought and feeling ballooning against the backs of your eyes. "You wanna talk 'fair', right? Here's a thing that isn't: you, dying here, alone, because your friends are oblivious and little ol' me? Doesn't care. I don't care!! Chara would and they're _gone_ , they're not around to scream in your head all the way down Idiot Bluff, so you get the one guy who doesn't—who _can't_ give a damn about the end of your pitiful existence, and in sheer objective terms of what does and doesn't suck, you. You deserve better."

You pant, more out of habit and dramatic necessity than need. Frisk is... unreadable. This is _incredibly_ nostalgic.

"... Speaking of," you add, stalk sinking a bit, "you suck, too. For the threat of leaving me with a bunch of schmucks I have a harder time standing the sight of. So. There."

Your gaze sinks, too. There's a pebble to your left that's kind of rounder than the rest. It's dumb and ugly, you've already decided that, but it's something to look at and, well. You've said your piece.

If you were going to brood about—what, how it feels to go through the motions of being a good person again, without the frills of personal reward? That seems likely. Frisk doesn't give you the chance though, when they squat close and drape you and that stupid pebble in shadow. You look up.

Despite everything, like this brave new world of swallowing back so much of your bile, there's a few things you don't think twice about. Like what to do when Frisk holds out a hand. You stretch your roots, lace them through Frisk's fingers as they bring down their other hand for better leverage, then brace for the ride up as they stand.

They cup you close to their chest. "Is there a prize," they say, voice quiet and deceptively even, "for deserving to live but sucking a lot?"

"My unending ire," you say, immediate and deadpan.

They snort and stick out their tongue again. "I've never had to do anything to earn that."

They've got you there. "Your face is gonna get stuck that way if you keep it up," you tell them, because you are _slick_.

They roll their eyes with a "Yes, Toriel" and you bap your head against their sternum. A light bap, mind.

"I hate you so much," you say into their tee, where they probably can't hear it. Whatever. You keep your face there, partly for the appearance of being mad but also because you can feel their heartbeat. That... you don't know. It's always made you feel better? You can only guess it's some holdover from when you would crawl into Chara's bed after a night terror (yours, or theirs) and huddle close to them. God, you were such a sentimental dolt.

You both stay like this for a minute or two. Or something. You're not really counting.

"I don't think I know what to do," they say suddenly, "with all the quiet in my head."

You shift so that Frisk can see your face. "Is that a weird way of saying you miss them?"

They look back, some shade of nonplussed.

You sigh. "You _can_ say that, you know." Their chest gets another _bap_. "I don't... _feel_ better, when you pretend everything's hunky-dory and you've just rolled with another punch. Or that you're sparing whatever feelings you think I have. It's just annoying."

Frisk hums a bit, front teeth working their bottom lip. You get the impression they'll need their hands back soon to keep talking, so you prep yourself to be set down.

"... I mean," they manage, giving the bridge a gently arched brow, "coming up here is an extra weird way of saying I miss them, isn't it."

You stare at them.

"My god," you say. "They're becoming self-aware. It's a miracle."

You're deposited on the ground, promptly, with a cool politeness that irks you fifty times worse than an outright drop would have.

" _Oh come on!!_ " You flick a glare at Frisk as your roots scrabble for footing. "I'm saying this as reigning shitlord of 'BOY I've missed you, let me show you how much'!"

They give you a flinty-eyed Look above their crossed arms. It shifts to something inscrutable as they shake out their wrists. _'Fair enough,'_ they snap off, _'but personally I'd say you're more of a N-E-R-D-L-O-R-D.'_

It takes you a second to catch up with their finger-spelling. Then you screech. They laugh, a special sort of gleeful.

The rest of you slumps onto the surrounding stone. "You're the worst," you say. "I hate you, and you are the absolute WORST."

Frisk takes a small bow. _'Learned it from the best,'_ is what you think they say (roughly half your face is flush with the ground, it's _kinda_ hard to tell these things!!). When they straighten, you catch them flashing you a smile. It's tiny, tamped down to its barest form; the wistful etch of a memory, less one lifted hand.

Ah. That _was_ it, then.

You turn your head to get a better view of them. The glee is gone, and Frisk isn't looking towards you anymore. They're not looking at the bridge either.

 _'Do you know,'_ they sign, a bit haltingly, _'what's been the hardest part?'_

You don't want to, but you don't stop them either.

 _'They didn't want to leave.'_ Frisk pauses, left hand touching their right sleeve. Their fingers crease the hem for a few seconds before pulling back. _'Chara wasn't just telling us that, for our sakes. Even if it meant—facing everything. Or being scared, or sticking it out in my body forever if we couldn't find a way around it, they really wanted to try.'_

You wait a tick before saying, "I know." Because... what else is there to say? Life sucks, then you die? Entropy is a cruel mistress?? Not that you know if whatever tied Chara to Frisk's SOUL was bound for dissolution, a cosmic inevitability no one (not Frisk, certainly not you) could head off, but, well. It's as good a theory as any, you suppose.

(Another thing you don't say: Rationalizations stink, they stink _so much_ , and so does the three of you minus one.

It's a lot to hate. It'd only be worse with minus two.)

 _'The thing about all that...'_ Their hands trail off. You notice a tightness to Frisk's mouth, a resolve, even though they still look sad. _'I feel the same way,'_ they finish, _'about myself.'_

Your brows crinkle at them. "Enough to be smart about it?" you prod, because—because you're _pretty_ sure they're not going through with it at this point. But there's something small and raw and distant inside of you that wants the reassurance.

Instead of answering you like a reasonable person, Frisk makes for the bridge. Their steps are soft and slow, disarmingly sure up until they reach one of the wooden poles anchored to the cliffside you're both on. They give the pole a once-over, and then a pat. The gesture is more friendly than appraising.

They turn heel.

 _'I'm not giving up on Chara,'_ Frisk says, _'but the bridge can have its magic.'_ Their hands are aflutter and willful as they cross to where they left your pack, as they strap it on again and it hits you how goddamn _goofy_ it looks without anything tucked in front; as they add, pausing activity, with a tired grin that's both for you and all theirs: _'It's cold. Let's go home.'_

That's your cue to sag even further into the ground. Somehow. With all the drama of a deflated balloon.

" _Ohhhh my goooodd._ " Above you the sky is deepening, from static haze to robin's egg blue. Your eyes squeeze shut. "You dithering jackass, that took you long enough."

You hear Frisk pad towards you, and you wait ten seconds after you know they've arrived to open your eyes. Their face hovers three feet above yours, impassive apart from a raised brow. _'If it makes you feel better,'_ they say, _'I'm sure I'll be in trouble by the time we get back.'_

"... That does a little bit," you allow, tongue poking into cheek. They smile, and you blink back. The moment settles.

Then: "WELL??? What are you waiting for, let's get a move on!"

_'Of course. After you?'_

"Haha, no?? You killed me with the suspense, bucko." You wave a root, with all the deliberate tension of a wet noodle. "I need a lift to the flower pot."

The corners of Frisk's mouth tip downward. _'Flowey,'_ they say, with a gravity that's a hare's breadth away from convincing, _'you are not dead.'_

"Am too!!" You lift a couple leaves like weak arms, wiggling them. "Pick me up!"

Frisk doesn't smother their gusty sigh. _'You're being a big baby,'_ they sign, but it's with the inflection of a fond mumble. Because they love you, of course. They proceed to gather you up with the usual care, the gentle furl of their touch and the way they hold you to their chest despite the lack of strict necessity, also because they love you.

(You think—not for the first time, but not of _too_ many, since you're intimate with the places this could lead—how it's kind of a shame, that you can't return the favor. But Frisk has never asked that of you, just for your continued existence and a promise to keep trying your best.

You're... skeptical of the latter, still. But if you can break down that stretch of Trying into a series of moments, like today, maybe you can start believing you could manage that.)

Frisk gets you resituated into the pot and you cooperate, in something that might be companionable silence. You don't break it until they've walked a good two hundred paces from the bridge, out of sight from that part of Mount Hyacinth's summit.

"... For the record," you say, giving them a pointed look, "I really would have eaten the guy who told you to cross that bridge, if there'd been one."

Frisk slows to a halt, staring back. Their face pinches in a way you can't place as their hands come up. They almost go back down a few times, fingers flexing with indecision.

Then, finally: _'Okay, see, THAT would've been a good time to use V-O-R—'_

You scream, loud enough to rattle a small windfall from the surrounding foliage. Frisk just covers their ears as they giggle, the force of it shaking through their tiny squat frame.

You sulking, and their ears probably ringing, Frisk moves forward, as is their wont.


End file.
